


i can be your ruler

by FreshBrains



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 03:39:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m a warrior.  I’m used to wielding deadly weapons,” Sif said quietly, eyes like dark coals.  “And a woman with political knowledge is the deadliest of all.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	i can be your ruler

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [typhoidmeri's](http://typhoidmeri.tumblr.com/) Darcyland AU Challenge on Tumblr. 
> 
> You all know where the title came from. ;-)

Darcy was used to hearing the same old fairy story over and over again as a little girl—there would always be a great and powerful king and a noble, fair queen, and they would have two lovely daughters—the beautiful princess and the dark princess. In the end, the beautiful princess would get her prince, and the dark princess would get a lifetime up in the tallest tower.

Or maybe it was the other way around—did the dark princess ever win? And what did she do to deserve a lifetime in a tower, because _goodness_ , that seemed like an awfully harsh punishment, and to your own _child_ no less. 

Fortunately, Darcy was the sort of princess who did not come from a fairy story. In fact, she wasn’t a princess at all—she was the ward of a lord, something she indeed loved saying. And Lord Selvig was not a king, he was a alchemist with a nice title inherited from his long-dead father. He had no queen, and he certainly wasn’t very powerful, although his workroom did emit some powerful sounds and odors. And Darcy’s lord-ward sister Jane was in fact the smart Lady while Darcy was the Lady who got into trouble with boys in the stables and wore her dress cut too low on her bosom.

But she’d settle for being the beautiful Lady, if she must carry such a burden.

“Jane, if one of us would have to be locked in a tower for the rest of our days, who do you think would last the longest?” Darcy lingered in Jane’s chambers, a place she did not often visit due to the alchemy clutter all over the tea table—who knew it would be so easy to confuse a pot of mint tea with a pot of liquid cinnabar? 

Jane looked up from her project; something involving many blue and white chalk charts and a little tool called an alembic that rested on an adorable brick stand. She wore two pairs of riding gloves over her fair hands, so Darcy knew it must’ve been important. “That depends, I suppose. Are we supplied with sustenance?”

Darcy rolled her eyes, most unladylike. “Of course. I’m sure Selvig wouldn’t have us catching mourning doves and grasshoppers to snack on. We’d have water and food and a chamber pot.”

Jane looked back to her experiment, but her mouth was slightly open, like she was still pondering the question. “Would there be books?”

Darcy flopped onto Jane’s bed, her emerald-green skirts fanning out around her body. “No, I’m afraid we’d have to live out our punishment bereft of the written word.”

Jane wrinkled her nose, eyes wide in horror. “Then you would last longer, most definitely.” 

Darcy scoffed. “Well I never, Jane! I read books too. You’re not the only smart one in the family.”

Jane sighed and tucked her experiment away, removing her gloves. “I didn’t mean that. On second thought, you might perish before I did if you didn’t have a host of royal subjects to boss around.”

Darcy mock-gasped and clasped a hand to her chest. “Ouch, that is _unkind_! I am not bossy.” She smoothed out her skirts. “I simply know what I want.” Darcy was Selvig’s political advisor—for a brilliant man, he knew very little of the kingdom’s politics, so whenever he was required at Odin’s palace, Darcy was the one who accompanied him and filled him in on grain prices, merchant disputes, and foreign unrest.

Jane smiled, her little sister-smile that made Darcy want to wrap her up in a hug. “Yes, you certainly know what you want. I saw you peeping at Sir Ian yesterday.”

Darcy only blushed a little. “Oh, you did, did you? You _must_ be mistaken. All of your funny chemicals have gone to your brain.”

“Why do you blush so? He’s handsome. He’d be a fine match.”  
Darcy scoffed again. “A match? You know I’m not one for the formalities of rank, sister dearest, but not even I would marry such a green knight. And he’s at least three years younger than me!” _He also kisses like a wildebeest and knows so little court gossip for being a knight_ , Darcy thought, but didn’t say it out loud.

Jane smiled, modest and sweet, like a good lady should always smile. “I have a secret, and you must promise to keep it _to yourself_ , although I know half the maidservants and guards will probably hear of it by this afternoon.”

“Again, such hurtful words. But come, come, sit down and tell me, you know I live for tawdry little secrets.” Darcy scooted over on the bed and Jane sat down beside her, smooth and lovely in an royal-blue satin dress, covered with a dirty canvas apron. 

Jane smoothed her hair behind her ears. “I was invited to the ball. Prince Loki’s birthday ball.”

Darcy’s first instinct was to gasp in delight—a ball? New dresses? Knights and ladies-in-waiting kissing passionately in dark corners? _Food?_ But it soon passed when two things made her wrinkle her nose in displeasure. “Prince Loki? Ugh, he’s the _worst_. I almost turned him into a frog once, but I forgot I didn’t know how to turn people into frogs.” Then she pouted. “And why wasn’t I invited?”

Jane gave Darcy a sympathetic look and put her arm around her shoulder. “Eldest daughters only, sweet sister. I’m afraid those few precious years matter in this situation.” She folded her hands in her lap, clenching the fabric of her skirt with excitement. “Darcy, Prince Thor invited _me_. Personally! He wrote me a letter lauding me for my achievements in alchemy and thanking me for my help in the kingdom.”

Darcy was suitably impressed and undeniably jealous. “Now _he_ is handsome. I’ve seen him sparring with Lord Fandral in the yards when he sheds his shirt, and _goodness_ , let me tell you—“

“Quite enough, Darcy,” Jane said, hiding her red face. “I’m already so nervous. I must say, it would be quite nice to be the wife of a prince. All that access to the king’s potions and books, endless space to work, no maids coming in and taking my green vitriol away with the breakfast dishes.”

“And you’d get to go to bed with that golden stallion,” Darcy said, and Jane swatted her on the arm. They both collapsed into laughter like a couple of little girls, although they were both women grown and moving up in their world—Jane with her alchemy and Darcy with her politics.

But Darcy had no desire to be married—who would flirt with Sir Ian in the kitchens and tumble around with Queen Frigga’s lady’s maid in the sweet-smelling hay piles in the barn if she was married and with child, away from the frivolities of being young and unwed? 

Being the beautiful princess was hard work.

*

“How do I look? Yes, dazzling, I know, thank you.” Darcy stepped into Jane’s chambers on the night of the ball, twirling gently in a long, tight black dress, decorated at the waist and sleeves with thousands of tiny, delicate crystals, plucked from the many drawers and dishes in Jane’s collection of stones. 

Jane looked up from where she was deciding which comb to wear in her hair. “Where in the world did you get that dress? And where are you _going_?”

Darcy shrugged, brushing a bit of invisible dust off her skirt. “It’s one of my old ones, just nipped and tucked here and there to show my favorite parts of myself.” She adjusted her cleavage. “And I’m going to the ball, of course.”

Jane sighed, piling her light, reddish hair up in a comb. Darcy quickly swooped behind her to help her in the mirror. “Darcy, you know I can’t take you with me. They won’t let you in without an invitation.”

Darcy grinned and reached into the bodice of her dress, pulling out a crinkled piece of parchment. “Then what do you call _this_?”

Jane’s eyes widened. “I don’t even want to know how you procured that.”

Darcy shook her head. “You know, you have to kiss a few toads to find your way to the prince. It’s a sacrifice I’m all too willing to make.” Her face still puckered at the thought of Prince Loki’s old guard with the bad breath, but at least she didn’t even have to kiss him for an invitation—she just wore her tightest dress with the lowest collar.

Jane shook her head, smiling. “I should’ve known. When you want something, you make it happen.” She stood up and made a slow turn in her beautiful, slim ice-blue gown, covered in a fine layer of what tulle. “Are we ready?”

Darcy held out her arm. “The carriage awaits. Let’s go get into trouble, shall we?”

Jane took her arm. “Perhaps I’ll dance with Prince Thor and then help _you_ out of trouble later, yes?”

“Yes, that’s what I meant.”

*

The ball was extravagant and expensive and full of ludicrously-dressed guests, and Darcy instantly adored everything about it.

“You go find your prince,” she said, patting Jane on the back, already scanning the beautiful table of cakes and drinks.

Jane fiddled with the white fur trim on her shawl. “Oh, I’m nervous. What if he forgot all about me?”

“Lady Jane,” a voice boomed out from the south entrance of the ballroom, and every head turned to the tall, muscled, blond form of Prince Thor, wading through the crowd like he was navigating a boat through the lake. “You’ve arrived!”

Jane’s face burned the color of rust and Darcy smiled, waving merrily at Prince Thor like they were old friends. “I don’t think he forgot,” she whispered out the side of her mouth, and Jane gave her a firm elbow to the ribs before curtsying to the prince.

“None of this,” Thor said, gently touching Jane’s arm with his massive hand, preventing her polite gesture. “I am honored to be in the presence of such a brilliant woman. Come, dance with me, tell me about your latest work.”

The crowd resumed their chatter, but they all kept an eye on the new couple. Jane gave Darcy a wide-eyed smile before disappearing into the crowd with the prince.

“Now I _definitely_ don’t remember inviting you,” a slick voice said from behind her, and Darcy turned and grimaced. She knew that cunning voice anywhere.

With hot eyes and a fake smile, Darcy curtsied low. “Prince Loki, happy birthday. You look presentable.” He was a handsome man—tall, lithe, dark-haired, fashioned in black leather and dark green and gold. But Darcy didn't trust him for a second.

“I’m always presentable. This dress is fine, Lady Darcy. How many men have you lured into your décolletage this evening?” He let his eyes scrape across her body, and Darcy arched her back, challenging the prince.

“None yet, but the night is young. Care to dance?” She held out her hand, but the prince just raised an eyebrow.

“With the alchemist’s daughter? Not likely. My tastes do not run parallel with my brother’s, I’m afraid.”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “No matter to me. I don’t often step out with _frogs_.”

Loki laughed and grabbed Darcy’s arm, a little too tight for comfort but not tight enough for a slap. “I know quite well that you conspired for an invitation, and with one word, I could have you out in the waste pile. Wouldn’t want to ruin this fine velvet gown, would we?”

“I invited her, my prince,” said a cool, clipped voice from Darcy’s left. “My apologies. I was granted Prince Thor’s permission.” 

Darcy looked over, and knew her night was going to be _very_ interesting, indeed.

She’d seen the warrior Sif several times before, but only from a distance—Lady Sif was constantly in motion, wielding her spear and shield, riding horseback, sparring in the garden with Hogun and Fandral. Her majestic presence was felt whenever she was near, and Darcy would be lying if she said she hadn’t sent an alluring glance in the Lady’s direction—but Lady Sif never seemed to notice.

She looked stunning that night, practically glowing in a fine, low-backed gown the color of fresh blood, a gold chain hanging from her throat and dangling between her breasts. Her hair was coiled in a soft pile on her head. 

Loki glanced at Sif. “No need for apologies.” He looked back at Darcy, and Darcy knew he was seeing something she could not. “I must greet my guests. Have a fine evening.”

When he left, Darcy exhaled and looked up at Sif, who was several inches taller than her. “I thank you, my Lady. But you didn’t have to do that—I’ve had my share fare of smart Princes.” She began to walk away, making a beeline for the night’s refreshments, when she felt an arm snake around her waist.

“Not so hasty, Lady Darcy. I believe my heroics earn me a dance.” Sif’s eyes glittered and they moved across Darcy’s body, from her slipper to her soft dark hair, but it didn’t feel appraising like Loki’s stare.

Sif liked what she saw, and Darcy _definitely_ liked that.

Darcy smiled. “I believe you are correct. Lead the way.”

It was a circle dance, simple and almost childlike, the customary beginning dances at birthday and holiday balls and feasts. Everyone was still full of energy, faces alight with drink, and Sif’s hands were sure and strong against Darcy’s back and arms.

When they separated into pairs, Sif scooped Darcy into her arms like she was light as a sack of grain. “Goodness, you’re strong,” Darcy said with a laugh. A curl came loose from Sif’s pinned-up braid and brushed against Darcy’s cheek. 

“I’m a warrior. I’m used to wielding deadly weapons,” Sif said quietly. “And a woman with political knowledge is the deadliest of all.”

Darcy felt her face warm—not with embarrassment, no, _never_ embarrassment. “Would you like to fetch some wine with me?”

“I would love to.”

*

Sif’s skin was soft and smooth, lightly tanned from days spent outdoors, and it struck a lovely contrast against Darcy’s milk-pale arms. Darcy pressed a kiss to the soft plum curve of Sif’s shoulder and it tasted of sunshine. “I’m not sure I see any wine here,” she joked, tilting her chin up.

Sif grinned wickedly and leaned down, trapping Darcy against the stone wall with her strong arms. “In due time, my serpent. I wish to taste _you_ now.” She ducked in for a kiss, hard and demanding, and Darcy melted under the touch.

“I always…I always thought you never noticed me,” Darcy said, wriggling under Sif’s talented mouth and roaming hands. “A warrior and a snake. How quaint.”

Sif laughed and pressed their bodies together, glancing about the empty palace hallway. “How could I not notice you, Lady Darcy?” She pulled down the collar of Darcy’s dress, revealing her shoulder and collarbones, and attached her mouth to the new skin.

“Yes, indeed,” Darcy agreed with a sigh, and no longer craved wine.

*

Darcy and Jane returned home in their carriage at the earliest hours of the morning, slumped against each other, a pile of limp fabrics and rumpled hair and wide smiles. 

“Breakfast with Selvig?” Jane asked as they crept into the kitchen, eyeing their ward at the table, poring over a new book.

“Let’s go to sleep,” Darcy whispered with a grin, and Jane followed her up the stairs, where they collapsed together in Jane’s bed, wearing their underclothes and their wide, wide smiles.

“The Lady Sif has a talented mouth,” Darcy said with a sigh, closing her eyes.

Jane was quiet for a moment, and Darcy thought she succeeded in scandalizing her sister, until Jane pressed her face into her pillow and murmured, “So does the Prince Thor.”

Their giggles lasted until they dozed into a peaceful slumber.

*

“Darcy, you’ve a gift from the palace,” Selvig said absentmindedly the following week, wandering near Darcy’s chambers, where she was trying to make sense of the farmer’s demands for higher livestock prices and the royalty’s insipid responses. The king’s political hands gave the information to her—they always trusted her.

“Oh?” Darcy asked innocently. “They’re making me queen already? How nice.” 

Selvig smiled indulgently and handed Darcy a small, red velvet box. “I don’t know who it’s from,” he said. “And if you’ve got yourself into trouble, I don’t want to know.”

“So dull,” Darcy muttered, taking the box. She opened it slowly and took in a sharp breath when she revealed a silver bracelet, curved thrice around, meant to be worn on the upper arm. It was an intricately-carved snake, complete with emerald and diamond scales and eyes. 

A note lay folded at the bottom of the box.

_Lady Darcy,_

_Even the best warrior needs a sharp mind by her side._

_Lady Sif_

Darcy sighed. “I knew it. I _knew_ she’d fall in love with me.”

Selvig shook his head and smiled. “They all do eventually, my dark princess.”

After he left, Darcy only squealed with joy for a second or two, or perhaps a minute.


End file.
